


Burn the Throne

by Admiral



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-12-26
Updated: 2011-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-28 04:06:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/303558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Admiral/pseuds/Admiral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt!fill on Kinkme-Merlin</p><p>"She's going to tear Camelot apart, Arthur! And (more importantly) she's going to break your heart."</p><p>Merlin sees a vision of the future, and tells Arthur what he knows, which leads to a magical reveal and a confession of love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> To fill this prompt: http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/17437.html?thread=16301085#t16301085
> 
> Reposted here because I keep screwing up over there, and I really don't want to make more work for the poor code mice.

Merlin watched, in the days after Uther's death, the Once and Future King wandering the halls of Camelot. He still felt a twinge of guilt over his involvement in Uther's passing, and he forced thoughts regarding Arthur's firm stance on magic out of his mind, lest he break down into tears. He already got enough teasing for being a girl as it was.

He found it hard, though, to worry when he saw Arthur watching his knights, proud of them, practicing and training with Lancelot and Elyan and Gwaine and Percival, treating them with the respect and nobility they had earned, disregarding completely how they were born. Merlin saw that same acceptance gradually creep into the eyes of the other knights, aided, he knew, by Leon, who accepted the base-born knights readily, and treated them as trusted brothers-in-arms.

He found it harder still to worry, when he spied the stolen moments between Arthur and Guinevere. He never interrupted, because despite what Arthur seemed to believe, Merlin was actually rather intelligent. He knew they needed this, to reaffirm their affections for each other and find solace in the other. He didn't begrudge them the time. He understood what trials lay ahead for them, with asking Camelot to not only accept low-born knights, but a serving girl Queen? The common folk would love it, and would treat it as a fireside tale come to life, but the nobles and visiting kings would be harder to wring acceptance from, and they might never receive the respect they deserved.

No, Merlin wasn't jealous of the time they spent together. He was, however, slightly envious that Gwen had gotten to Arthur first. Not that Merlin had expected anything in terms of a serious relationship from Arthur, he wasn't nearly naive enough to believe that was possible. No, it was simply that Arthur was an honorable man. Honorable to a fault, in fact, and now that he was certain of his relationship and considering a future with Guinevere, he would not allow himself to be involved in a relationship, no matter how frivolous, with a secret sorcerer serving boy. Merlin had missed his chance. Regardless of how readily Merlin would give his life for Arthur, he couldn't receive the reward he wanted. He wouldn't even be selfish enough to ask for it in the first place. He respected Gwen too much for that, and loved Arthur too much to consider asking him to compromise his morals. They were, after all, part of what made Arthur Arthur, and what had made Merlin fall, stupidly, in love with him in the first place.

So, he turned a blind eye to the stolen moments, slowed down when he saw a flash of curly dark hair around the corner, put up with Arthur's tuneless humming in the evenings, and his bouts of periodic melancholy when the weight of the crown overwhelmed him. He still chattered aimlessly when serving Arthur, joked and jested with him and the other knights, smiled at Gwen and kept a secret eye out for anyone trying to hurt Arthur. Now his protected extended to Guinevere as well, because he knew that Arthur would be heartbroken if anything were to happen to her. He decided to keep an eye on Gwaine and Lancelot, because they were his friends and that's what friends did. He grew closer to the other knights as well, Elyan, Percival, and even Leon, and shrugged. Why not? They were his friends too.

Watching for threats on all sides, for so many people, while running his errands for Gaius and serving the King day in and day out, Merlin felt a bit stretched, and it wasn't until he literally ran into a stationary Lancelot that he felt like perhaps he had gotten so wrapped up in his duties that he was starting to ignore his friends. Especially if the look on Lancelot's face was anything to go by.

Lancelot, for his part, simply looked at Merlin, sprawled on the floor, as if he wasn't quite seeing him. Merlin, who had been rather shocked by the mouthful of warm chainmail, stared at Lancelot, for once silent.

The moment was awkward, and broken only when Lancelot shook his head dazedly, and offered Merlin a wan smile, extending his hand to help him up. If the smile hadn't tipped him off, Merlin could tell that something was bother his friend when he immediately went back to staring at an old tapestry so worn that no one could really tell what it was anymore. Merlin's favourite interpretation so far was by one of the stable boys, who swore up and down that it was a man with a beard and an anchor etched on his arm, sitting on a battlement, turning a young boy and an old man into fish.

He wasn't quite sure why he liked it so much, other than the idea made him laugh.

Lancelot, however, was staring at the formless design as if it held some great and terrible beauty that he would be killed for looking upon.

Glancing at the tapestry himself, Merlin knew that that was certainly _not_ the case, and carefully put his hand on Lancelot's shoulder. The Knight didn't react.

Merlin fished for something to say. He was completely useless in these kind of emotional interactions. Something was obviously eating at Lancelot, and Merlin had no idea what to do.

"C'mon, the tapestry isn't _that_ bad." When in doubt, go with the first thing that comes to mind. At least, it had generally worked for Merlin.

And by 'generally worked,' he meant 'I'm still alive.'

Lancelot looked at him, obviously unsure if he should smile or look grave. The resulting face was simply confusion, and Merlin knew he hadn't listened to him at all.

Knowing that Lancelot was too noble for his own good, and would suffer in silence forever before burdening someone else with his problems, Merlin clapped him on the shoulder and turned to walk away.

"C'mon, we're going to see Gwaine. He'll work you to death in the training grounds and then we'll sneak into the castle and burn the tapestry, since it bothers you so much." He injected as much liveliness into his voice as he could, hoping that it would snap Lancelot out of it enough to follow him. Gwaine would know what to do. He was good with people, after all.

"Merlin."

Lancelot's broken voice stopped Merlin cold. He turned back to his friend, worry obvious in his eyes when he met Lancelot's gaze.

The Knight's eyes dropped, and his breath hitched when Merlin turned, but he visibly steeled himself to look Merlin in the face, and ask, voice cracking and breathy with choked sobs, "How-" he paused, glancing back down and freezing before Merlin took a few steps closer. Lancelot looked back up and continued, eyes anguished, "How do you live with such a secret?"

Merlin's eyes widened, glancing around for anyone within earshot, and wondering, in a panicked second, if Lancelot was feeling guilty for not turning him in.

The thought was hardly formed before it was dismissed, because this was _Lancelot_ , the most noble and loyal man Merlin had ever met. He would never do anything that would endanger his friends or go back on his word.

Merlin, satisfied that no one was around, shrugged, and sent Lancelot a goofy grin, "You know, try to stay out of trouble, save Camelot, deal with Arthur being a prat, the usual."

His humor wasn't helping his friend though, who screwed up his eyes in quiet despair, clenching his fists, fighting back desperation and depression.

Merlin stepped a bit closer. "Lance, what's wrong?" he asked, voice quiet and concerned, "Let me help you, please."

Lancelot simply shook his head, turning away with a bitten off bark of hoarse laughter. "Merlin." He said, voice broken in the same way that had stopped the sorcerer dead. "You do all this," he gestured vaguely, and Merlin had to concede the point that if it weren't for him the walls of Camelot would probably have fallen at some point in the past few years, and Merlin felt that Lancelot was including more than just the castle, but the sunlight streaming through the windows, washing the white stones in soft light, the echo of laughter from down the corridor, the stamp and clatter of relaxed horses in the courtyard, and the steady bustle of life, content and thriving around them.

"You do all this," Lancelot continued, voice breaking further, even quieter now, "with no reward, no acknowledgement, no respect." Lancelot turned his eyes to where the floor met the wall, "If you are not able to receive it, who am I to hope..." He trailed off, and Merlin simply gaped at him.

"Lance," he spluttered, having so many arguments against the man's statements that he wouldn't even accept, and more that Merlin couldn't put into words for fear of being overheard. He settled for the most innocuous route. "Lance, what are you on about?"

Lancelot's eyes closed again, lids acting as a shield between him and the world for a moment. He turned to Merlin, and drew himself up, and Merlin could almost see him throwing his own emotions behind him, pressuring himself to not succumb to whatever temptation they presented.

He looked at Merlin with a sort of heartbroken determination in his eyes, and said, quietly, but steadily now, though Merlin thought he could detect and undercurrent of hurt. "I vowed I would no pursue her, and I will not. She is happy with Arthur. She deserves him." He paused, as if rethinking his words. "She deserves far more than I could give her."

And with a nod, he strode away, leaving Merlin standing in front of an ugly tapestry with a head spinning with indecision.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the length of this chapter guys. And this is all I have prewritten, so hopefully I'll be able to get the next bits out soon enough. Thank you guys so much for reading, I really appreciate it :D

Merlin wandered through the rest of the day, avoiding Arthur, Gwen, and the other Knights at all costs. They would be able to tell that something was bothering him, and he didn't trust himself to not give it away. He owed Lancelot more than that.

He knew Lancelot loved Gwen, and even Merlin could admit that she was a beautiful and kind woman, though his tastes tended more towards men than women, especially beautiful and occasionally kind blonde Prince-turned-Kings. Lancelot was deeply in love, but his honor and tendency to self sacrifice wouldn't allow him to put pressure on Guinevere to choose between him and the King.

Merlin could see where he was coming from. He thought that Guinevere would be happier with Arthur, though that she deserved the nobility that would come with it, and deserved the love she would receive as Arthur's Queen. He seemed to forget, though, that Knights were nobles as well, and Guinevere could enjoy those same comforts from Lancelot as she could from Arthur.

The biggest point, though, that Lancelot seemed to be missing, was that Gwen loved him. She loved him with a passion that Merlin only began to see when she was with Arthur. Arthur was Gwen's stability, her constant, and it showed. It showed in the way she kissed him, measured and full of sweetness, like a couple that's been together for years, and knew the tricks of the other, calm and accepting. Merlin could see them, in a few years, still loving and caring, placid. Exactly what a devoted King and Queen should be.

Lancelot and Gwen, however, were passionate, and madly in love. If they allowed themselves to be together their kisses would be fiery, full of love and intense.

Merlin felt awkward figuring out how his friends would kiss each other, but he plowed on, trying to come to a decision while polishing the same saddle for the past hour.

Gwen and Lancelot had the potential to be world shaking. Gwen and Arthur balanced each other.

Then again, Merlin thought as he polished the same section of the saddle for the sixth time, it wasn’t as if he would do anything. It wasn’t for him to decide how other people should live their lives. He was here to protect Arthur, bring about the birth of Albion, and bring magic back to the kingdom. Really, it was enough for anyone to be getting on with, so he certainly didn’t want to get involved with any messy romantic entanglements. But, for all that, he didn’t want anyone to get hurt either, and it was looking more and more like there was going to be at least one broken heart at the end.

Merlin wasn’t paying attention, which had set the stable boys whispering among themselves, gossiping about the Arthur’s manservant and his famous mental affliction, but they scattered when the King came into the barn, blonde hair sweaty from the morning’s practice, armor glinting dully in the soft light of the stables.

“Merlin!” he snapped out, making Merlin jump, but miraculously managing to save the saddle from tumbling into the dirt. At least he would have something to show for his hour and a half of thinking. True, the saddle was polished to within an inch of its life, but it was polished, dammit.

“Sire,” Merlin said, slightly distracted and preoccupied. His single word managed to be both non-questioning and completely lacking in respect, though not outright disrespectful. The hidden stable boys glanced at each other, wide-eyed, wondering how Merlin managed to get away with everything he did. If they had taken that tone with anyone they would have been slapped. Merlin was unfazed, and Arthur took it in stride, as if it happened all the time. Which, it did, really.

“Heat a bath for me Merlin, then go to Gaius and ask for the book I requested. Bring it to me.” He turned on his heel, heading back out into the sunshine. Merlin hurried to catch up.

“What book do you need?” He asked, unrepentant about the lack of honorific or title. He figured that he’d saved Arthur’s life enough to drop the ‘sire.'

Arthur rolled his eyes and kept walking. “Not that it’s any of your business _Mer_ lin, but I need to find something in the vaults. I asked Gaius to look it up for me.”

Merlin nodded and strolled off, knowing that Gaius would tell him what Arthur was looking for, even if Arthur was being a secretive prat about it.  
As it turned out, when Arthur dragged him to the vaults later that night, that the King’s top secret item turned out to not be even slightly interesting to Merlin, who was used to the idea that the vaults held magical wonders and weapons of great power. After a bit of digging, Arthur had turned up a fairly intricate and obviously well-designed crown. Of course, being Arthur, he had presented it as if this were the answer to all their problems. He was vaguely disappointed when Merlin barely showed interest in it at all. Of course, the crown was pretty, but not magical or dangerous. Hence, Merlin was examining other things while he had the chance to do so.

For his part, Arthur looked fairly put out, glancing down at the crown in confusion. As much as he liked to pretend otherwise, he wasn’t very good at expressing his emotions. He was so often forced to hide his true thoughts behind his crown and position, so as not to upset anyone in the delicate balance of politics that was carefully woven around him. Merlin was the exact opposite, having no idea about social boundaries or class distinctions, smashing through all of them, the painstakingly kept traditions and the inborn sense of superiority that had morphed into being something inherent in the noble class.

Arthur wasn’t sure when it happened, but over time the give and take that had been the marker of a good noble/serf relationship had changed. Now, peasants were likely to be grateful to get any kind of assistance or protection from the nobles, and nobles considered themselves gracious when they decided to help the ‘little folks.’ Ealdor had been a perfect example of that. Cenred and his nobles had had a duty to protect their people, and they had failed spectacularly.

Arthur glowered at Merlin, simultaneously envious of his ability to move outside the circles of politics and nobility, befriending everyone given half the chance, and annoyed with his obvious inattention and vaguely destructive curiosity. Arthur shook his head as Merlin narrowly avoided picking up some other object that was bound to be dangerous. His servant had shoved his hands in his pockets, but Arthur could tell he was just dying to play around with some of the things hidden in the vault.

Shaking his head, he looked back down at the crown, trying to picture how it would look on Guinevere. It had been his mother’s crown, he knew, and his father had put it in the vaults. It had been too painful for him to look at.

He sighed, and leaned back against one of the rough walls of the vault, letting Merlin poke around a bit. It wasn’t as if he had anywhere to be this evening, so he had the time to indulge.

He thought about Gwen mostly. He loved her, that much was true, but he knew that she loved Lancelot as well. He didn’t doubt her affections for him, but he was only slightly mollified that she was, apparently, choosing him. It had crossed his mind that she was with him only because it had appeared that Lancelot had bowed out, so to speak, and he couldn’t find it in himself to give her up. Maybe he wasn’t as brave as he appeared.

While he wanted to make sure that Gwen was adjusting to her new duties being the Kings intended, he knew that he was being pressured from every side to get married and produce and heir. The kingdom was on shaky ground until he did, and he was trying to protect her from the harassment, but it was true. His father had been killed by a circus performer and magic, a bad joke if he had ever heard one, but he knew he could be dead any day, and he couldn’t leave the kingdom in shambles, scrambling for someone to rule. He might be rushing a bit, and he didn’t want to hurt Guinevere, but he was sure she would understand, and having a Queen who had been a servant might spur the nobles into taking their own lands into account. Being immersed in politics from birth had made him almost incapable of doing something without more than one motive. Gwen would understand, though, he was sure.

And if she didn’t, he would bring it up in private so she could choose what she wanted.

Merlin, on the other hand, was so immersed in his exploration of the vaults that he hadn’t noticed Arthur’s silence or brooding. Quite a few of the objects were magical, but hardly any of them were meant to be violent or destructive. Uther’s vendetta had blinded him to the positive application of magic, and Merlin was itching to try out some of the things, wondering if he could possibly convince Arthur that the vault needed to be recatologued, or something. He could spend days down here.

Passing into an area he was more familiar with, Merlin stopped. Just to his left, on the dusty velvet pillow, was the Crystal of Neahtid. He tensed, shocked that he had gotten so distracted that he hadn’t noticed the low level magical hum. Standing this close though, he wondered if the Crystal had been hiding itself from his senses, trying to lure him close enough. He could sense it now, the same temptation that he had noticed the first time he had encountered the Crystal. It wasn’t malicious, so to speak, or conniving, but more like something that had so much information that it was bursting to show it, to tell someone. It was like someone hiding a secret for a long time, and finally given the chance to tell someone, they garble it, bits coming out in the wrong order and giving the overall wrong impression. It was scattered and wild, tinged with anxiousness, and it put Merlin on edge. The knowledge of the future was a temptation best left to better people, and Merlin knew how everything could go to shit. He also couldn’t look away, the gentle shine of the crystal hiding just how harsh the truth could be.

The Crystal, though, had a mind of its own, that wasn’t going to let Merlin go that quickly. He found his body taking a step closer, looking straight into the milky depths of the Crystal, until they were obscured with flashing images that Merlin’s eyes could only barely take in. It settled after a moment, but Merlin was already off-balance, hardly aware of his own body, seeing only what the Crystal was presenting. He could feel his magic twisting up with the Crystal’s, empowering it, using it to keep him riveted to the glimpses of the future.

He saw Guinevere, crowned and radiant as the Queen of Camelot, benevolent and loved. Nobles bowed to her in honest deference, awed by her simple elegance, ladies envied, but unable to say an honest bad word against her. She was stunning, as Queen, wearing simpler clothes than most nobles, more than likely made herself, but managing to look like some kind of Goddess, stepped down to grace the halls of Camelot.

It wasn’t just her beauty that the people loved though, it was her heart. As big as the sky, and warm as the fields in summer, she wandered the city, making sure that the people were happy and taking any complaints she found back to the King. She helped the washerwomen and the blacksmiths, chatting with them with the same breezy ease that she used to speak with nobles or visiting Kings, worming her way into their hearts with her simple charm and gorgeous wit. The struggles that present day Arthur and Gwen were facing were washed away in the beautiful light of this new future, full of acceptance and equality and more than Merlin had ever dared hope for.

The vision changed, though, Arthur and Guinevere aging abruptly, to their early thirties, still loving and fair on the surface, Guinevere continuing her duties as doting Queen, Arthur ruling a united Albion with justice and heart. It was a time of unprecedented prosperity for everyone, but through the vision Merlin could sense a kind of rottenness about the image, as if this happiness was simply a front for something much more sinister.

The vision shifted again, this time to the same, slightly older Guinevere, wrapped in Lancelot’s arms. They were in her chambers, and her crown was on her vanity, and the Pendragon crest was embroidered on scattered bits of fabric about the room. The Knight and Queen were kissing with all the world-shaking passion that Merlin had imagined, and clothes were being shed, the laces on Guinevere’s corset were loosening, and Lancelot’s shirt had disappeared earlier. The man had more scars than the present day Lancelot, but it did nothing to detract from his handsomeness, evidenced by Guinevere’s hands fluttering across him without pause. This was obviously not a first time occurrence.

Lancelot’s hands were sliding off Gwen’s shift and her hands were unlacing his breeches, mouths still glued together, eyes closed, wrapped completely in each other. The door creaked open, the sound going unnoticed by the couple.

Merlin’s heart broke at the look on Arthur’s face. Devastated was too small a word, and betrayed couldn’t encompass the depth of emotion. It was like watching a castle falling, stones beating the ground as it tumbled from disrepair, forgotten and ignored. All the art and beauty and strength gone in an instant, leaving one shaking in the face of the pure destruction.

Merlin felt like crying, dying to take Arthur in his arms and comfort him, hide him from the pain of losing the love of his life, especially like this. Guinevere half dressed in the Pendragon red and Lancelot’s pledge of fealty like a punch to the gut. It was just a vision, though, so Merlin couldn’t move, and had to watch the hurt crumble Arthur’s shoulders to a defeated slump, watch his hand shaking on the door, pain worse than any physical wound turning his face into a pale parody of itself.

The lovers broke apart, staring at Arthur, managing to look aghast and guilty at the same time, but what was done was done, and Arthur had been broken beyond repair. Merlin watched Arthur’s face morph from abject despair to brokenhearted anger, the kind that makes you want to tear something down with your bare hands, so everyone else notices how broken you are inside.

Merlin couldn’t hear anything, but in a second there were Camelot guards in the rooms. Arthur collapsed, and the vision shifted again. It was the throne room, and Lancelot was bowed before Arthur. Both men were trying so hard to keep themselves together, Lancelot in his apology and worry, and Arthur in his sorrow. Lancelot was banished, and bowed his head at his Kings proclamation, obviously having expected much worse. When he looked up again a moment passed between the two men, but Merlin couldn’t interpret it.

Another abrupt change, and then Gwen was tied to a stake in the courtyard, sobbing while Arthur stood in front of her, stalling the order to set fire to the kindling, waiting for something. Merlin wanted to rage that this wasn’t the way to fix it, that Gwen and Lance had made a mistake, but killing your wife and Queen was not going to help anyone. If he was there, he knew he would be screaming himself hoarse, pleading that Arthur just see reason.

The King’s face was set though, harsh and unforgiving, but the misery was plain in his eyes.

There was a rustle in the crowd, and Lancelot appeared, having hidden himself under a robe and cowl. Fighting broke out, the clang of metal against metal vaguely muted through the Crystal, and for a moment, the fight brought Arthur and Lance face to face. A moment of understanding, and Arthur stepped aside, letting Lance bound up the pyre to save Gwen.

It was then that everything went wrong.

Stepping off the dry wood, Lance moved to leave, accepting his exile now that Guinevere was safe, and going with him. Arthur just watched them go, eyes deadened by pain.

Gwaine, though, sweet, loveable, exuberant Gwaine, knew nothing of the plan hatched in the dungeons of Camelot between the King and his Knight, and moved to interfere. The fighting intensified, a quick flurry of weapons and armor with Gwaine and Lancelot at the center, then, Gwaine was spread on the cobblestones in a pool of spreading blood. He was dead.

Guinevere and Lancelot, tears in their eyes, fled Camelot, and Arthur went to kneel next to his fallen friend, red cloak soaking in the blood.

|||||||

Gwaine’s death set in motion a cataclysmic chain of events that Arthur could barely begin to cope with, having just lost not only his Queen, but two of his best Knights and greatest friends.

Gwaine’s father, King of a nearby kingdom, blamed Arthur for his son’s death in a blind rage, and sent his armies marching against Camelot. Among the soldiers was Gwaine’s brother, Mordred, who had more than one reason to hate Camelot and all who inhabit it. He had never forgotten his cruel treatment at the hands of Uther Pendragon, or the betrayal of Emrys, and while he never held any affection for his brother, who had been terrified of him and convinced their father to send him to the Druids, he would not miss an opportunity to bring Camelot to its knees.

And Arthur, listless and morose, defended Camelot for all he was worth, to the last man and Knight, until it was he against Mordred. The lone King stood on the blood-soaked battlefield facing Mordred, with his magic and black armor, as Camelot burned around him with a sorcerous fire, setting even the stones alight.

The final blows were dealt, and Arthur sunk to his knees, Mordred already dead on the end of his sword. Arthur died moments later, face turned to the sky that shone bright on the destruction. Metal and chain mail reflected the light, save where it was dirtied by blood or dust. The sky was clear, without a cloud, but the battlefield spread from horizon to horizon, dead men and horses lying under the empty sky until the smoke from the ruined castle filled the air, turning midmorning into dusk with no one alive to notice.

The bodies of Arthur and Mordred burned in the collapsing castle, silence thick, subduing even the crackle of the flames.

None stood from that field to claim victory, and Albion never again rose from the ashes. Doomed to be forgotten in legend.


End file.
